


Homemaker

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Anal Play, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Older Woman/Younger Man, Pegging, Sex Toys, no male power fantasies here, please leave that rubbish at the door
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are builders and destroyers in the world, but both can make a home.</p><p>(Previously titled "Safe Place to Land.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homemaker

He’s nineteen.

Older than she first thought—so short, with long lashes and soft fuzz on his chin, still shaking before a fight, gaping amazement after his ghoul bodyguard dropped the behemoth using Reddin’s Fat Man—but still so young, sheltered in that vault. Now the metal walls cracked like eggshell, spitting out this scrawny, half-grown chick that’s  _still_  not ready to stand on his own—

No, that’s not fair. Vault 101 may have sheltered him, left him soft around the edges and wet behind the ears but he’s  _earned_  the calluses on his hands and the grit beneath his nails.

She thanks him for his assistance and he blushes, ears red like strawberry jam and embarrassed sweetness as he mumbles, “Wasn’t me. Was Charon.”

 

* * *

 

Several months later she sees him in the Citadel, and his beard has grown from peach-fuzz to soft curls, two shades darker than that on his scalp. But his eyes are still soft, warm like rich earth and fresh bread, and when he tilts his face in wonder the sun catches the iris and bursts into a million rays of gold.

She’s already heard the news from her father and Dr Li, so congratulates him on escorting the scientists out of Project Purity.

He ducks his head, gaze averted and gives a brief, jerky wave to Charon. “Wasn’t me. Was him.”

Sarah can’t help chuckling, crossing her arms and watching him fold an apology in that awkward smile. “So what  _do_  you do?”

His words trickle out slow and rusty like water from a long-unused pipe.

Sarah’s known from childhood that she was meant for Brotherhood, for leadership—accusations of nepotism aside, because she’s  _confident_ , iron in her blood and bones lined with steel. But her marksmanship was earned, even when she was nineteen. And she’s had seven years since to grow tall and sink her roots deep.

But for a teenage boy who never knew the sun until his nineteenth birthday, never saw the moon flow from round-bellied fullness to sliver-thin crescent, never tasted gunpowder and blood and copper in his teeth—shoulders slumped, face written with shame, he admits he always wanted to be a chef. He speaks in dreams and whispers of the glory of a pristine kitchen, eggs and fresh vegetables from the vault hydroponics, sweet rolls and luscious cakes topped with powdered sugar, biscuits with honey folded in the batter and the warmth of a full belly; the comfort from never fearing when the next meal may come.

She wonders if he needs other people to speak for him.

“My dad always said,” he starts, voice catching and she still hears the softness woven over the pain like gauze over a wound, “that there are two sorts of people in the world. Builders and destroyers. The people who drop the bombs, and then those who try to rebuild from the wreckage. I never much understood him, but always fancied I was a builder.” He raises a hand, scratching the back of his neck and venturing a sidelong glance. “I might not be much of a fighter, but that’s Charon’s job. I… I  _try_ , but it never made much sense to me, trying to fix the world by busting up only the bad bits.” He grimaces, mouth turned downward. “Guess I’m not much without my dad.”

“Never say that about yourself,” she snaps, surprised by the force of her own speech. He’s frozen like a rabbit, eyes darting and nostrils flared, so she smoothes herself calm. “Good thing it’s my job to bust up the bad bits, then.” And she smiles, all teeth and sharp edges but he laughs.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing.”

His smile is a gentle curve of lips and softness.

 

* * *

 

He stops by the Citadel every so often, still searching for an intact GECK and stopping by to give progress reports. He brings news and map data, tags from fallen Brothers and little gifts. Kodiak gets a ridiculous stuffed bear and roars with laughter at the joke, while Maxson grins like a sunrise at a pristine Grognak still wrapped in plastic.

Sarah’s gifted a jar full of stars.

She chuckles, shaking to hear the paper rustle over one another, the tiny stars a confectionary rainbow of ribbon and bright-patterned paper, all swirled together and painstakingly folded into whimsical shapes.

“You made this?”

“No—not all of them. Found the jar while scavenging, not quite full—took one apart, figured how to fold my own.” He rubs his knuckles against his chin, biting his lip; a study in nervous hesitancy. “Do you like it?”

A gift of time and whimsy, from a builder to a destroyer.

“Yes,” she says, surprised by how much she does.

He may not speak much, but he gives gifts with meaning.

She wonders if she could be his voice.

 

* * *

 

His next gift looks less promising, a gritty yellow-white substance stuck inside a plastic bottle.

Her surprise must show, since he stammers and blushes, rushing to open the bottle before yelping in dismay and stumbling to the kitchen sink. He washes his hands, scrubbing soap into his palms and scratching his nails through the suds.

“It’s still good, I swear!” He dries his hands before plopping back into his seat and twisting off the cap. “See?” He dips his now-clean pinky into the strange grit, scooping up a tiny bit of the white mystery. Licking his finger, he makes a happy ‘mm’ noise and smiles. “It’s honey. Honey lasts forever, did you know that? It’s one of the few foods that never spoils.”

His words buzz reassurance about her ears, so she touches her finger to the crystallized honey, winces a bit at the sticky feel, and raises it to her lips.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “It’s  _good_.”

“Told you!” He leans forward on his elbows, knees bumping hers under the table before blushing and tucking his legs to the side.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks pass without any word from the Wanderer, and Sarah finds herself worrying in the spare moments between drill and patrol. Three Dog runs through the vault boy’s accomplishments with bombastic good cheer, and she smiles to think of how he’d blush and mumble, “Wasn’t me, was Charon.” But there’s no  _new_  news, nothing to fill the aching uncertainty that grows behind her ribcage. There’s a lot that can happen out in the wasteland, even for a teenage chef guarded by a walking murder-machine.

So when he finally returns to the Citadel, the breath leaves her in a big whoosh and she punches him in the arm, playfulness laced with a pain so fierce it would break her if she thought too long about it. “Where have you  _been_?” she demands.

He offers a small bundle wrapped in a red handkerchief, palms up in supplication. “I made you a present.”

She unties the knot to discover tiny cinnamon-scented cookies, and her mouth waters but her stomach flips and she shakes her head, thinking  _you big dummy, you big dummy_.

 

* * *

 

So later that night, they stand face to face down a secluded hallway near the archives and he holds her hand, whispers the words that have been written over his heart since the day they met and she murmurs back the slow honey-dripped realization that’s melted over hers.

His pulse butterfly-flutters beneath her fingertips and his breathing comes out ragged as he confesses, “I’m sorry, I don’t—I’ve never really—um.”

“That’s okay.” She kisses his nose and the edge of his mouth, laces his fingers with hers and presses him slow against the wall. His body melts, lips parting and he turns towards her like a flower to the sun. He tastes like cinnamon and sweetness, Nuka Cola gone slightly sour in the back of his throat but it’s  _nice_ , nice not to be pawed at and for this sweet boy to let her lead, to take her time and explore the shape of his mouth and the curve of his jaw. His beard tickles her chin but that’s okay too, especially when she twists her fingers in it and he snorts, halfway between a sneeze and a giggle.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Tickles.”

“That’s okay.”

Afterwards they sit side by side and he leans against her. He fits perfectly under the space of her arm, like a pistol in its holster.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more—more.”

“You’re nineteen. I’m twenty-six. I remember what it was like to be nineteen.” She nuzzles into his hair, breathes love on his scalp and he shivers warm beneath her lips. “And believe me, I’m surrounded by plenty of big tough types all day. I’m not looking for another asshole Bael or terse Gallows. Hell, if I wanted a murder-machine, I’d be kissing your bodyguard. I like  _you_.”

He nestles close, cheek into her shoulder and lips pressed to the side of her neck, just a hint of wet before he murmurs slow promises to build a world for her, home and haven in the circle of his arms—not walls to shield and close her in, but a safe place to land when her day is done.

She likes her little builder, and will destroy whatever it takes to protect the safety of the home he promises.


	2. Where the Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner in, then eating out. (rating jumps to explicit here)

She immediately recognizes his house despite having never been there before-- the sheriff just has to point her up the path and she spots the bright plastic pinwheels spinning in the breeze, rainbow colors swirling in front of the potted herb garden. She pauses by the mint, leaning in to take a greedy sniff. Mint is her favorite, a promise of sweetness that comforts her in a way that even the more savory rosemary and sage cannot. A throwback to before the bombs, like that fancy cheese that earned him his nickname.

Unfortunately, there’s scorch in the air that has her reaching for her laser pistol. Smoke can mean anything from a raider nest to a super mutant camp, and…

Too late, she remembers her instincts are all wrong for Megaton. This is a _safe_ place, little community sort of place. Somewhere that a nice boy from a vault can settle down with his dog, his ghoul bodyguard, and the occasional visit from his highly-competent Paladin girlfriend.

Besides, no raider or mutant would have the smell of burnt sugar and lemon in the air.

She knocks, waits for the frantic “come in!” before opening the door to find Cheddar fanning smoke away from the oven with a damp towel. He turns to face her, lower lip trembling and tears dancing on his lashes.

“I am so sorry, I mixed up the settings and it’s just this _colossal_ mess now, and I am so sorry-”

Even in distress he’s sweet, warm-- like oven-fresh bread. Makes her want to scoop him up and nibble, swallow him up in love-bites.

“Hey, hey,” she soothes, reaching to touch his cheek, stroke a gauntleted finger over the edge of his ear. Cool metal can only offer so much comfort, but he melts at the touch anyway, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing hard enough her suit will leave bruises on his belly. “I’m happy to see you. Dinner was just a bonus.”

“No, _dinner_ is still all right,” he corrects earnestly, eyes wide and pleading. “Just dessert. I meant to make you a cake, but if you don’t mind maybe I could do a crisp instead…”

“I’m happy to eat whatever you make. Do you want some help?”

“No, no, just get undressed.” He blushes, stammering through his next sentence as his hands fly up to shield his embarrassment. “I mean, feel free to, to change out of your power armor. If you’re comfortable, I mean.”

She smiles mercy at him, and he sighs relief. Sarah leaves him to the kitchen mess, walking upstairs to find an empty room to change. There are two options-- one a blank, meticulously-maintained sort of space with the blankets tucked flat and extra boots laid out with military precision. The other is filled with cozy warmth and knick-knacks, with woven rag rugs on the floor and silk flowers in a chipped vase. So she ducks the flying butler-bot (which must be equipped with an air-freshening unit, since it emits a heavy artificial lilac scent in its wake) and enters Cheddar’s room.

She strips down to her undersuit, then skivvies-- thinks about changing underwear too, but decides against it. She’d rather investigate that rich tomato and gravy smell wafting up, so she buttons up a loose shirt and slips on a worn pair of pants. Maybe not a proper prewar ‘date night’ outfit, but she doesn’t exactly have pearls and heels. Wouldn’t even know how to walk in heels; she spends more time aiming a gun than a tube of lipstick.

So she walks downstairs again, fingers running light over the railing as she scans the walls. Homey bits of cross-stitch hang perfectly straight, making her wonder if Cheddar or Charon had been the ones to put them up. Some are faded and obviously scavenged, others with a newer look that she suspects Cheddar made himself. Including one that must have been inspired by Charon, since it reads, “Happiness is a warm gun.”

“Where’s Charon, anyway?” Sarah asks, walking beside Cheddar. She props her hands on the counter as he sprinkles a crumbly oat mixture over sliced mutfruit. That was fast; though the enormous bowl of sliced fruit beside him shows he may have ‘borrowed’ from a future snack.

“He has the night off. He’ll probably spend it over at Gob’s-- hope so, at least. I-- I asked him to have a good time, and I think they’re sweet on each other. And I think he’s gonna want to give us space anyway.” He gives her a sidelong look, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “He likes you, you know. He thinks you’re… good. At what you do.”

“How nice that he thinks I’m competent,” she says drily.

“I mean-- he respects you. And that’s not something he does lightly.” He tilts the bowl to pour the last of the topping, tapping on the sides. “Just need to pop this in the oven now, maybe half an hour. Rest of dinner’s good to go. I’ve got beer, wine…?”

“Just water is fine.”

And even the water is fancy, poured from a chilled carafe with mint floating in it. He’s spoiling her; she likes it.

He makes a big deal of pulling out a chair for her and setting the table. Pride of place goes to the meatloaf, covered in tomato sauce and some sort of green herb sprinkled on top, with roasted green beans and gravy-smothered mashed potatoes on the side. Cheddar fusses around with cracked black pepper and salt, but Sarah ignores the offered condiments-- she’s had enough of Cheddar’s cooking to trust his judgment. And it’s still miles away from anything she might dig from the Brotherhood mess or whoever’s turn it is to cook on patrol with the Pride.

Some of the usual chit-chat, small talk and filling in the gaps that Three Dog’s reports don’t give, the unsaid spaces in their letters. Like rediscovering each other again all over again, new and tender each time, but it flows more easily as their voices drown out the electric hum of the refrigerator.

With a shy and blushing pride, Cheddar says that Charon’s been teaching him how to make better use of his sniper rifle.

“Not bad, since I’ve only been really shooting for a couple months now.”

“I’ve been… geez, I feel like a dirty old lady here. I’ve been shooting since before you were born,” Sarah sighs, cutting another slice off her meatloaf. Not that she needs her knife, really; side of her fork’s just fine. “Brotherhood demands everyone be able to pull their weight, even if you’re not intending to go Paladin. So I was using a BB gun-- cheap ammo, not much kick-- to fire at old cans and targets since I was six or seven.”

Cheddar purses his lips, head tilting to the side as he calculates. “So that was… yeah, before I was born. Or just right abouts. I didn’t even get my own BB gun until I was nine. Birthday gift.”

“See, it was never a ‘gift.’ It was expected. And I didn’t get to keep the gun as my own, just use it for the mandatory target practice with adult supervision. Didn’t get to keep my own until I was about ten or so.”

Cheddar chuckles, taking Sarah’s glass and pouring fresh water. Sweet kid; it wasn’t even empty yet. “Even though I had mine as a gift, it wasn’t like I got to actually carry it around a lot. Wasn’t exactly something that made the Overseer happy, but if my dad or Jonah gave me permission, I got to ping away down on the reactor level.”

“Laser pistols, plasma rifles-- those weren’t until I got a little older, because ammo was expensive. And I learned some of the more common guns out there too. Plus weapons maintenance. Finally got to go on escorts and ride-alongs in my teens. Brotherhood may not expect children to go out and clear a bunker of super mutants, but at least learn to hold your own in a pinch.”

“Still sounds so nice and sheltered, compared to most of the Wasteland kids out there,” Cheddar sighs, eyes soft-- and Sarah reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. Thinks about his uncallused knuckles and the lack of dirt beneath his nails.

“No, I don’t think so-- protected, maybe, but not sheltered.” She swallows the ‘not like you’ because Cheddar’s softness is such a precious thing, rarer than water in the Wasteland. Especially now. “We’ve got the resources to invest a little more in our kids.”

“Ever thought about how many children you’d want?” Cheddar asks.

Sarah smiles and pokes her finger to the corner of his mouth. “I think it’s a little too early to start planning, don’t you?” She waits long enough for his blush to stain his ears, then chuckles. “But usually, Brotherhood expects two or three-- we want to maintain our population at least, but now that we’re a little more established and taking in children from outside, that might relax.”

“Not what Brotherhood expects. What you _want_ ,” Cheddar says soft and earnest, eyelashes trembling shadows across his cheek.

“Honestly?” She frowns at her plate, stabbing a green bean like that will somehow make this easier. They’ve only been dating a few months, and she can imagine Cheddar as as a father, but… “I don’t know if I even want children. I mean, I like Maxwell, and it’s not like the Brotherhood wouldn’t support any new parents, but pregnancy? That’s not just having to worry about _my_ ass in the field, but my kid’s. Wondering if this or that scav site contains teratogens, if the next mutant sledge is going to smash my belly, if I can get power armor modified for the pregnancy. Assuming I can even fight to _be_ in the field, and what that change in leadership would do to the Pride.”

“I want children,” Cheddar confesses, tracing his thumb over the rounded lip of his glass. “Not right away, I mean, but eventually. I don’t really care if they’re adopted or not, though. I just… I really like kids. And if I couldn’t be a dad-- or maybe even if I could, in addition to-- I’d want to be a teacher. I’ve been really lucky to have had great teachers. Like, Mr. Brotch was one of my big inspirations. And Jonah was great too, always made time to read to me as a kid. And Mrs. Palmer-- she was really sweet and let me follow her around the kitchen, taught me to make all my favorite foods. I’d really like to help make a difference, the way they did for me.”

And she thinks of Maxwell, the way the boy’s face lights up when Cheddar visits, the way they huddle together laughing over old books and comics and the way Maxwell was so proud that Cheddar taught him how to sew a button and mend his favorite teddy bear--

Brotherhood doesn’t have enough children to need a full-time teacher, but she thinks that will change. Be a nice, stay at home job if they start planning a family.

She’s scraping gravy off her plate as Cheddar checks on the crisp. It smells delicious, and must look alright judging from his sunbeam-smile. She has to fight to make him let her help with clean-up-- and really, ‘fight’ is too strong a word when she pointedly offers to arm-wrestle him, winner gets to do dishes-- but he ducks his head smiling as they pack up leftovers. By the time the dishes are put away, dessert’s cool enough to eat. She opens her mouth to let him spoon-feed her, and kisses sugar from the edge of his lips.

Sarah smiles and kisses his forehead. Thinks about some sort of ‘eating’ joke after dinner, but he’s deserves better than some corny joke.

“Want to go to your room? We can make out, touch--” and doesn’t finish that sentence because he’s already nodding, so she squeezes his hand and leads him up the stairs. Wriggles her toes across the rug before tumbling into the bed with him, mouths soft with kisses and her thigh sliding between his legs.

He bumps down against her, kissing the underside of her jaw as he wraps his hands over her shoulder. Strokes her ponytail between his fingers, a soft moan shuddering through him as she rolls on top of him. She keeps her weight braced against her forearm, legs wide-- can feel his arousal bump her, but there’s no hurry to him, only a gentle exploration as he fingers the exposed line of skin between her scalp and her shirts high collar. Sarah takes the initiative, undoing her buttons with one hand as she nibbles his neck, licks the tendon and shrugs open the front of her shirt. Her bra keeps her breasts from spilling forward, but he gasps delight regardless.

Bolder now, he touches a finger to the strap-- runs a finger along the worn edge, kisses her shoulder with wet lips as he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful.”

“I know,” she teases, close enough to feel his breath stir over her skin. Pinches his ear, wiggling to make him look up at her. “And you’re pretty cute too.”

“Can I… may I go down on you?” he asks, rolling his head to the side and exposing the tender underside of his chin.

Would be the perfect opportunity to make a joke about eating out versus dining in, but she can’t quite make the words work right now-- and he’s so earnest, so eager, she doesn’t have the heart to tease him any more than she already has. So she kisses his chin, nuzzles at the green-soap smell in the hollow of his throat. “Yeah, I’d like that. Stay there.” He stays obediently in bed as she stands up, shimmying her underwear and pants off in one smooth motion. Turns back to face him, crawling on the bed and straddling wide over his shoulders, her arm braced against the wall. “I’d like to be on top, if you don’t mind…?”

“Any way you want is good,” he says fervently, cupping his hands under the swell of her buttocks. He breathes in deep, like scenting a bouquet-- laps at her cleft, forehead bumping the curve of her belly as he shifts higher. She coils a hand in his hair, tugging to guide him in place as he first goes too gentle, ticklish flicks of his tongue, then a broad, hard stroke that has her hissing and arching away. He murmurs an apology to her inner thighs, then settles into a gentle rhythm, sweet and even as the ocean calm.

Her arm’s sore, pressing against the metal wall-- her knees too, even kneeling on the mattress and half-seated on his hands. Never thought of how accustomed she’s gotten to her power armor separating her from the world, but _this,_ this is glorious, this is her body trembling and sweat sticking her shirt to the back of her neck as she grinds against his face. This is feeling wholly and completely alive, _aware_ of her own flesh and all the glorious nerves and synapses firing at once as he licks her clit, breath tickling her pubic hair, then screaming and pulling his hair, her forehead mashed against the wall as he wraps his mouth over the soft nub and starts sucking--

She breaks apart, forgets everything else except that it feels _good_ and she’s with _him_ and nothing else matters except this transcendent moment of climax.

Right after, she hisses “stop, stop” and sits back on his chest, shoulders heaving and breasts quivering as she regains her breath. Wipes a sticky strand of hair off her cheek, breath still coming in heavy pants.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, brows furrowed with worry and chin slick with her.

“No, it’s just-- too intense, right after. Feels like my clit’s throbbing.”

“Was it bad?”

“No, it was really good-- just need a little more time.”

So she sits there for a while, Cheddar kissing her thighs and rubbing his thumbs across the back of her feet. She’s going to leave his shirt smelling like her, the way she’s sitting; figures he won’t mind though. After a few more minutes, when she’s caught her breath, she leans forward again. He takes his cue and starts licking with a contented sigh, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

She comes once, twice more like that-- each time sitting back and sighing as she recovers, finally swinging her legs off him and nestling beside him on the bed. He coughs into his hand, wiping his mouth against his wrist as he cuddles into the crook of her shoulder.

“Would you like if I…?” she begins, squeezing his erection through his pants.

“No! I mean, yes, but-- I’d rather if you held me, I mean? Like spooning, with your hands on me,” he mumbles, eyes shaded through his downturned lashes.

“Okay. Do you have lotion?” He nods and points to the dresser, so she rolls to get it. Even his lotion is soft and precious, lush and almond-scented. She dips her fingers in the pot, rubbing it into her hand as he unzips behind her, a metal jingle as he drops his trousers to the floor. She lies on her side and he slots perfectly in the curve of her body, the backs of his legs smooth against her thighs. She hooks her toes over his ankles, socks skidding against one another, and kisses his shoulders as she squeezes his cock.

Cheddar sighs, long and squeaky as she brushes her thumb over the head of his penis. She kisses his cheek and he rolls his head into her mouth, pressing against her. Settles one hand under his cheek like a pillow, rests the other light on the bend of her wrist as she starts stroking up and down. She keeps her grip firm, steady-- squeezes a little tighter when he murmurs, “It’s okay to go harder,” and adds a slow twist that makes him shiver against her.

He comes quickly, with a startled cry as she bites his shoulder. Blushes and stammers an apology at his lack of warning, but she chuckles and kisses the dimpled marks on his skin.

“Did you have fun?” she asks, wiping her lotion-slick hand against his belly.

He chuckles, squeezing her hand against him. Fingers laced together like a prayer. “Yeah. This was really great.” Squirms, wriggling to kiss her arm before settling into place.

Sarah tucks the blankets over both of them, nuzzles at his soft curls. Thinks that she’s so lucky, but he’d argue and blush jam-sweet if she said so.

Well, maybe they’re both lucky.


	3. No More a Kink than Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheddar takes it up the butt! (forgive me; that was the title of the WIP)

He shivers, gasps as she pushes him on the bed, one of his knees hooked over her shoulder and her elbow pressing the meat of his thigh. Kneeling on the floor in front of him might not look like the most dominant position, but the hint of tooth-- nothing hard, just a graze with her lip to soften the edge-- on his sensitive cock makes him yelp. Cheddar groans as she sucks deep, mumbles, “Please play with my balls?” and moans appreciation as she does so.

Sarah doesn’t like giving blowjobs, not really-- neck gets sore, and even with the rug beneath her knees it’s not as comfortable as lying back and receiving-- but she loves the way he reacts, the way he sweats and squirms. His hands tremble, make fists and rumple the pristine-smooth blankets. She wouldn’t mind if he touched her hair, but it’s sweet how violently he shies away from anything that _might_ hurt her.

She keeps one hand around the base of his shaft, makes a stop for her lips as she slides down. The other hand cups his balls, fingers tickling the smooth warmth between balls and ass. Leans forward, fingertips brushing down the crevice of his buttocks, and stops when he yelps. She pulls back and kisses the head of his cock in apology. “Sorry about that.”

“No, not-- I liked it, I mean,” he says, head tilted sideways and peeking at her from under those long lashes. “Just surprised me, is all.”

“Liked it?” Sarah grins, pats his hip. “Liked me playing with your ass, you mean?”

He nods, cheeks flushed and lashes trembling.

“Give me some lotion. If you want a finger or two, we can make that happen.”

Cheddar does a funny little wriggle, a sideways rock of his hips rather than disentangling himself from her as he reaches for the pot of lotion on his dresser. Scoops out a generous pat and rubs it over her upturned fingers, his hand slippery-cool against her own as he coats her thumb and all the rest. Slicks the excess her knuckles, making her bite a giggle on her tongue.

“You think I’m going to work my whole hand in you?” she asks, tasting sweet almond in the air.

“No, not really-- just figure this lets you use any finger you want.” He gnaws the inside of his cheek, wiping his hand on the bed as he blushes like a sunset. “I trust you. Any finger, as many as you want.”

“Just tell me if I’m going too fast,” she says, waiting for his answering nod before licking his cock. A long stroke, balls to tip, and she wraps her lips over the shaft again, running her tongue along the vein beneath. Cheddar sighs against her, thigh quivering as she presses her pinky against his hole. A deliberate shudder as he relaxes, and she slides the tip of her finger in him. She wriggles sweet and gentle as she continues sucking, working herself in to the second joint. From there it eases, and she curls upward as he releases a happy whimper.

She lets him relax for a while, working a gentle rhythm of her mouth while doing little more than hold position with her hands-- an occasional twist of the one on his cock, and the pinky in him making small thrusts with the bob of her head. When her mouth gets tired, she pulls off him with a pop, kisses the soft fold where thigh meets hip.

“Do you prefer when I keep the finger still inside you, or moving…?”

“Um.” He opens his eyes, brows crinkling as he considers. “I like that little bit of motion. Maybe another finger?”

She leans back, considering the pretty image of her finger in him. Adding the neighboring finger would tweak her wrist, she figures-- so she pulls out, smirks at his mumbled protest. “I’m putting it back in, don’t worry.” Leans forward to kiss his belly, lips tickling over the soft line of hair trickling south of his navel. Presses her index finger to him, middle finger tucked next to it. More resistance now, but she makes a loose fist around his cock and slides up as if to soothe, murmuring, “Relax for me, sweet.”

He sighs, knees falling to the sides as he rolls his neck back, shoulders slumped soft. His breath hitches as she slides both fingers in him now, a gentle rock of her palm as she works out a rhythm between her stroking hand and the fingers fuckin him. Feels strange, off-kilter-- smooths together as she puts her mouth on him again, letting her fingers slide with the motion of her neck and shoulders. They fit so easily now, perfect as nesting cups or slotted spoons stacked on one another. His body throbs around her, squeezes-- she worries it’s pain at first, but he gasps, “I’m gonna, I’m gonna--” and that vein beneath the shaft pulses on her tongue before she pulls back and lets him spatter over her palm, trickle down her fingers. She raises her hand after, lets him admire the creamy drip of his cum, and touches her forefinger to his lower lip. Means it as a joke, just something to dot his mouth, but he opens his mouth and sucks. Laps his tongue over her fingers, swirling to catch the semen dripping in the crevices of her hand.

“What a good boy,” she says, pulling her fingers out of him and patting his thigh.

“Try to be.” He grins, sweet and shy but still so proud. “Can’t leave a mess all over you, can I?”

“You live too clean to be a dirty boy.” Sarah pushes her hands on the edge of the bed, rising to her feet. Pauses to kiss Cheddar’s cheek before going to the bathroom to wash up, and Cheddar pulls a towel off the rack to dry her hands for her.

It’s a shared interest, something that’s no more a kink than kissing or cuddling, but Sarah now keeps her eyes open for other toys to surprise Cheddar with. A few discreet inquiries to Crazy Wolfgang on her part, some out of the way scavving on Cheddar’s, and they start amassing a little collection.

Because Cheddar likes fingers, he really does-- but he also likes plugs. The first one they try is small, barely thicker than two fingers at its broadest. Black silicone, which Sarah regrets because Cheddar loves colors and she’d prefer something brighter, but it makes for a nice training plug, a little bit of extra sensation that leaves her hands free to squeeze and fondle, tuck him close to her and make him sit between her legs as she watches him jack off.

The second plug they try is bright red, looks like two bulbs attached to one another before flaring to a flattened base. The size makes Cheddar squirm-- first with trepidation, then excitement as she works two, then three fingers in him with him bent over the kitchen table, kissing the back of his shoulder before finally pushing the toy in his ass. There’s so much lube on it that it squelches on the way in, so loud she hears it even over the refrigerator’s hum. She bites her laughter between her teeth as Cheddar squeaks in surprise. She makes him walk around after, smiling at the way he shifts his weight and squirms around with the toy inside him. It makes him twitchy and excited in the very best way when he kneels between her legs too, tongue fluttering over her clit and his breath in ragged bursts.

The third-- and her favorite-- is purple, some kind of glitter worked in the silicone so it gleams under the light. A nice taper, reasonably thick but still comfortable, though the reason it’s her _favorite_ is because pressing a button on the base makes it vibrate, and watching Cheddar squirm is its own delight.

Though she quickly realizes she might have a new favorite when Cheddar presents her with a box wrapped in blue ribbon.

“For you.” He chews his lip, scratching the back of his neck as he shuffles his knees into one another. “Well, for me, technically,” he amends, “but I hope you like it too.” He’s been making scones, a dab of flour still on one cheek. Crumbs on his fingers, sweet morsels from him hand-feeding her choice pieces studded with fruit. It only makes him more endearing as he twists his hands together, watching her open the box.

Inside is a pink dildo resting on a collection of straps and what looks like an unusually thick set of underwear, though she deciphers the tangle as she dangles it between pinched fingers. The toy is cute, all rippled smoothness with no attempt at realism-- bit of a relief, really. Cheddar kisses her neck, her shoulder, moves down to her belly as he sits before her at the kitchen table. Kisses her fingers, nuzzles the lingering ozone and plasma on her skin. She lets him take the harness and fit it over her, adjusting the straps and making sure the dildo sits snug in its O-ring.

It’s not the weight so much as the heft that makes her want to swagger, after. She cups his face, tugging him into a long kiss and making him stand on tip-toe before rasping ,”Get your plug,” in his ear. Swats his butt as he scampers away. When he returns with the purple plug, already slick with lube, she tells him to slide it in for her. He smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling as he bends over by the sink, wriggling his ass at her as the toy slides in with so little resistance she knows he must have been practicing earlier that day.

She rewards him by flicking on the vibrator, then tugging him around the living room in a lazy dance, bare toes trailing over cool metal floors and coiled rag rugs. A textured dance, smooth slides of limbs and twirling him under her arm as they pass over the bare sections of floor, more daring as she dips him low over the cushioned rugs. She kisses him on the mouth, breath sweet and tart with sour cherry, and asks, “Ready to go upstairs?”

He nods like his head might bobble off.

So she scoops him up in her arms and marches to the base of the stairs. Realizes that dropping him would be a phenomenally bad way to end the start of the night, so sets him on the feet with an apologetic chuckle. Cheddar bounds ahead of her, taking the steps two at a time and waiting for her to sweep him into her arms again, carrying him into his bedroom. She deposits him on the bed with a cheery squeak of the springs, rubbing her nose against his and kissing his lips, his jaw, his neck-- undresses him with a tangle of limbs and laughter until they’re both wearing nothing but their toys, glowing in their skins and the yellow tint of his bedside lamp. It makes his dark hair catch gold on the tips, glitters stars in his eyes.

“How do you want to do this?” she asks.

“Facing you,” he says, so quick there’s hardly room for breath. So she chucks him under the chin, smiling as she fluffs a pillow and wriggles it under his ass. Flicks the vibrator off with a nudge of her thumb and pulls the toy out of him, kissing the curve of his inner thigh. Sets it on the table next to the vase of silk flowers.

She grasps the dildo by the base, the side of her palm rustling against the pseudo-leather of the harness, and rests her other hand on his belly. Bites the tip of her tongue as she considers how to do this-- easy enough with her own fingers or a toy that’s meant to _stay_ in, but this is entirely new.

But with Cheddar looking up at her, bright-eyed and flushed, mouthing _I love you_ , she relaxes. Presses the toy-- _her_ , an extension of herself if she lets it, much like her power armor is ‘her’ when she’s with the Pride, or how her rifle is ‘her’ when she’s on the field-- to his slick hole. Already gleaming with lube, but she pours more into his outstretched hands and lets him slide it over her dildo, make it gleam wet and dripping.

He bites his lip as she eases into him, the bulbous tip giving only token resistance before she slips smooth and easy into his willing body. He sighs, his cock bumping her belly as she settles on top of him, her weight pressing him into the mattress. She kisses high on his forehead, lips whispering over his hairline as she braces her elbows to frame his shoulders. Hip motion is so different from what she’s used to, and the dildo doesn’t prove _her_ any stimulation beyond the dull press of the base against her clit. Not bad, exactly, just not enough.

Pushing forward makes Cheddar gasp, squirming beneath her with his left hand on her shoulder, nails digging into the deltoid. The right splays across her back, fingers dragging across her spine. A long shudder escapes him as she pushes all the way in, and it’s so slippery she thinks she might be able to just shove in, slap her body against his, but doesn’t want to risk being wrong. So she takes it slow, painstakingly so as he pleads for more. When finally her groin is flush with his ass, her thighs sticky against his skin, she asks, “How do you feel?”

“Good. Real good.” He opens his eyes, looks up at her with a love-drunk glaze. “Just… take it slow, please? I mean, it’s my first time after all.” His nails turn caressing, tracing the hard line of her bicep. Just enough awareness to turn the tone teasing, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“I promise. I’ll be very gentle with my little butt-virgin,” she teases, lighting her mouth to his. He had never fretted over her previous partners, only that he wouldn’t be experienced enough for her-- but there is still so much novelty for both of them, so much mutual exploration still remaining. So she nips his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth. Slips her tongue to meet his, breasts warm against his chest as she starts sliding out. In, out-- a slow rhythm, easy as her own fingers inside her or Cheddar’s tongue on her clit. When he gasps sweet into her ear, she makes note of the position, adjusts the angle so she’ll hit that bundle of nerves on the way in again. The ripples on the toy add a little extra drag, but he still seems to enjoy the sensation. So she covers him in kisses, nibbles his ear and tells him what a good boy he is as he rocks against her. Positions herself so the air conditioning vents chill over her back, raises ice-cold prickles along the bumps of her spine as she shields Cheddar beneath her.

“Squeeze your cock. Touch yourself for me,” she says, no less a command because she’s smiling. So he lets go of her back and reaches between them, his knuckles rubbing down her belly as he takes himself in hand.

Finally getting the hang of it now-- she gets more clit pressure when she glides into him, slides her dildo in all the way and grinds. Not enough to get off, but definitely enough for him to feel her heat against him, for that to trigger a half-startled cry of delight. Sarah feels her heart swell up inside her, some curling, sprawling thing that threatens to choke her up like vines. Like a tangle of old ivy, like home and belonging, warm and welcoming-- brighter than any Brotherhood bunker or walled-up Citadel.

Cheddar’s eyes close, lashes fluttering as he sighs against her collarbone. She thinks it’s another pleasure-moan, realizes he’s crying when she catches the tear glittering on his cheek.

“Baby, I can stop--”

“No, no,” he urges, letting go of his cock and squirming his hand around to grip her back, his legs wrapping as best they  can so his feet hook over her thighs. “Please stay. Stay in me, stay with me,” and his eyes are brighter than stars, soft as bedtime prayer, “this feels so good, I’m so lucky, I’m so in love with you, I feel so good--”

He babbles when he’s close, so she pulls back her torso to give him room, lets him come with a final wailed “I love you” as the semen spatters on his belly, drips down his navel. She stays in him, kisses his nose and trails a finger through his cum. When she raises it to his mouth, he opens obediently and she allows him to suck her clean.

“That was good, so good,” he whispers, collapsed in a heap of blankets and sweat. “But did you come too?”

“No, but we can take care of that later. Don’t you want to be held?”

“Yes, but-- but it’s not fair if you don’t come too,” he says, jaw set and she knows this look, recognizes the same boy who strode into the Purifier, into certain death for the betterment of humanity. He cares so deep, so broad, it could swallow him up if he let it. No point in arguing, so she kisses his cheek and pulls out of him.

He starts to sit up, but she stills him with a word. “No.” Then a soft explanation, before the hurt can flash in his eyes. “I’ll sit on your face, but just want to watch your hole close first. It’s… kind of neat. What’s it called, the opposite of dilation?”

“Constriction,” he says, keeping his legs wide. His cheeks and thighs are blush-red, the perfect backdrop as she spends a few lazy moments watching his body adjust to her leaving. Hole closing, an occasional twitch, still shining with excess lube. She slicks her finger through his cum again, caking it in the crook of the joint, and presses it to his ass-- he gives a startled choke, grabbing the back of his knees to stay nice and open for her. Makes it easier to rub the cum into his ass. She spends a little more time to watch it trickle out again, enchanted as much by Cheddar’s embarrassed obedience as the messy drip of fluids.

“Wish I had a toy that squirted,” she says with a sigh. “It’s hypnotic.”

“Could try with lotion,” Cheddar suggests, releasing his legs. Nipples hard brown buds now, either from lingering arousal or growing chill as the vent blasts cool air down his sweat-soaked body.

She chuckles, unfastening the strap-on. “Maybe. Don’t know about the texture though.” Leaves the harness and dildo tangled on the floor, crawling on the bed beside him and wriggling to make the springs creak. “But I am all for sticking more things up your butt.” Sarah straddles his face, smothering any response beneath her cunt. She has just enough mercy to use two fingers of one hand to spread her labia for him, other hand braced against the wall as he starts lapping her clit. Broad and gentle strokes, the way she likes-- moving to that rapid flutter of the tip of his tongue directly on her clit, also the way she likes. Her thighs grow slick as she rubs and sighs, rattles her orgasm against the wall when she screams.

After, he tries to lick again, so she groans enough and rolls to the side. “Only got enough energy for one of those.”

“I should get up and clean the toys…” Cheddar protests as she drapes an arm over him.

“Can’t that wait until morning?”

“At least should wipe down the harness, dry it. Don’t want it to get ruined.”

Sarah turns her lips in mock-pout, releasing him with a flourish of her hand. “Fine. But hurry back to me.”

He walks a little funny; not unexpected. An extra sway in his step as he takes the toys away. She hears water trickling, waits a couple minutes. Starts falling into a warm drowse with her head cushioned on her forearm, one hand flat in the heat left by Cheddar’s body. When he comes back, she fits around him in a happy spoon. Adjusts the covers over them and kisses the hollow behind his ear, her heartbeat a lullaby against his spine.


End file.
